The Pain in the Neck and Other Stories
by mergrly3286
Summary: Now a Bones/Booth anthology: romantic tension abounds in this collection of one-shots and captured moments.
1. The Pain in the Neck

The Pain in the Neck

Brennan sat up straighter, closing her eyes. She leaned her head against the back of the couch. Her neck ached from staring down at her paperwork for too long. She dropped her pen and attempted to stretch her stiff muscles. She swiveled her head around carefully, and surveyed the scene around her.

The coffee table was strewn with used plates, half-empty takeout boxes, and completely empty beer bottles. The paperwork that was indirectly causing her pain littered the table, the couch cushion to her left, and the floor. She looked to her right last. Booth was apparently not distracted by her sudden need to stretch. His pen continued to scratch across pages as he filled in details and signed his name over and over in his untidy handwriting. He was so focused, in fact, that she looked at him just slightly longer than she would normally allow herself to do. His tie and jacket had been discarded hours ago, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His warm, dark eyes were focused downward on his task. His cheek showed the patchy shadows of a long day of work. His lips were slightly parted, his tongue sticking out in his intense concentration. The furrows on his forehead were further evidence of deep focus.

Booth could feel her penetratingly blue eyes studying his face. He tried to keep his head clear; he tried not to lose his focus. He tried not to think about how close she was to his side. He tried not to think about how comfortable this couch was. He tried not to think about those bright blue-grey eyes that still hadn't stopped staring at him. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He sighed and turned his head to meet her gaze.

"What's up, Bones?" he asked.

"The muscles in my neck have stiffened from prolonged immobility," she answered clinically.

"I know there's a ton of paperwork," Booth said. "It's a serial case; there's always a lot to do. You can go to bed if you want. I can handle the rest."

"No, I don't want to leave you with all this." Bones gestured to the large piles of paper. "Besides, I'm not tired. I just need you to palpate my upper posterior trapezius muscle."

"English, Bones," Booth requested, dropping his pen and leaning back into the couch.

"I need you to massage my neck."

"Bones, I don't know…" he began to protest.

"Please, Booth?" She turned the power of her pleading eyes on him. He imagined rubbing her neck with his strong hands. He would be happy to do it. He just wasn't sure if he could stop with her neck.

"Bones," he groaned, still objecting. A few more minutes of those eyes, though, and his resolve would be pretty much fried.

"Remember when I used to crack your back for you?" She was negotiating now.

"I remember the time you nearly paralyzed me," he shot back.

"That wasn't my fault. Please, Booth?" The pleading eyes were back again.

"Alright, Bones, I give." He sighed, and sat up on his couch cushion.

"Thank you." She turned her back towards him.

He took a deep breath as he placed his hands on her shoulders. He stopped thinking for a moment, and let his hands begin their careful work.

She sighed contentedly as his thumbs found the precise location of her tension almost immediately. She let out a quiet, involuntary moan of pleasure.

She reached up and let her hair out of its tight bun. The scent of her shampoo hit him like a wall of flowers and strawberries. It took almost all of his strength to keep himself from leaning forward, burying his nose in her soft auburn locks.

"Don't stop, Booth," she begged as his hands slowed down slightly.

"I'm not," he replied, focusing on his hands instead of her hair. "But you know we do have to finish this paperwork at some point."

"Eventually, yes," Bones responded softly. She leaned backwards slightly. The strawberry-flowers wall hit Booth in the face again.

"Sheesh, Bones," he muttered, too quietly for her to hear.

"What?" she asked. Not as quiet as he thought.

"Nothing," he recovered. "Your hair smells good. That's all." _Massive understatement,_ he thought.

"Thank you," she answered tentatively. She wondered how long he would continue kneading her muscles so skillfully, before he insisted that they return to their work. Perhaps he would continue to her shoulders, her back, her waist. She sighed at these possibilities.

"How're you doing, Bones?" Booth asked after a few minutes of silence. "Feeling any better?"

"It feels wonderful," she answered. "You are very skilled at giving massages."

"Thanks," he replied. "Can we go back to paperwork now?" He was warring with the impulse to lean down and press his lips to her neck. He knew he couldn't last through much more of this.

"Yes," she sighed. She turned to face the coffee table again. Her neck felt oddly cold without his warm hands. "Let's get back to work."

**A/N: So that's just a moment of cuteness that popped into my head a while ago. For the timeframe I'm thinking sometime mid-season 4 (I know there are some other time nuts out there like me who like to know these things). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did (or didn't) let me know by leaving me a nice review, pretty please. Reviews make me very happy. [Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, Booth, a Porsche, or a pony. But a girl can dream.] **


	2. Good Morning

**A/N: Ok so I know it's been a while... but I've decided to add a couple more one-shots onto this story, per your suggestions. I know this one is short, but I'm pretty happy with how it came out. Please take a second to let me know what you think. **

I turned over onto my side and closed my eyes again. I breathed deeply, trying to act my way into sleep. I heard the rhythmically muffled thuds. I felt the mattress creak and shift in response to an added weight.

He thought I was asleep. But I felt his hand creep up my side, sliding under my thin shirt, moist against the skin of my abdomen. I rolled toward him. I smiled towards his familiar face. Or rather, the outline of his face, barely discernable in the darkness.

As my pupils adjusted, his features resolved. I could not see the color of his eyes, but I could imagine the exact hue: like a fresh cup of coffee, with one packet of sweetener. He knows how I take my coffee.

His strong jaw stood out from the darkness. I reached my hand towards it; I could not see the stubble that carpeted his cheek, but I felt it prick my palm. I felt the dimples appear under my hand; I ached to see the accompanying smile.

I saw his tongue emerge, wetting his lips. He inclined towards me, so slowly. I had time to savor the smell: mint chewing gum. His mouth was within three centimeters of mine, approximately. But I wasn't thinking of uncertainties. I reached up to meet him.

My eyes jolted open. Olive green light filled the tent; morning sun filtered by canvas. I was smothered in humid sweat. The alarm beeped insistently. I sat up on my small cot.

"Just a dream," I murmured to the empty space.

**P.S. If you feel like you're missing something... that was Brennan having a dream and then waking up in Maluku. **


	3. Handcuffs

**A/N: Two stories in one night? Can it be true! It's like Christmas! Don't forget to say thank-you with reviews. Or cookies. Also, if you guys have any ideas or thoughts for more one-shots that you'd like to see, please let me know. The one thing that stops me from writing (besides school and all that mess) is a lack of ideas. **

"Booth, it's not my fault!" Brennan jogged to keep up with him. He had a bad habit of walking faster when he was angry.

"Of course not," Booth huffed. "You just had to go take him on by yourself. Couldn't wait for me, could you?"

"He was destroying evidence!" Bones protested. "Could you please slow down?"

Booth mumbled something about a complete disregard for safety. He wheeled around to face her. She lurched, collapsing into him at the sudden stop. He caught her, one arm ensnaring her waist.

"Try to keep yourself safe next time," Booth pleaded. "And maybe this won't happen again." He held up his right wrist, pulling her left wrist along with it. Handcuffed together. She glanced from their linked wrists to his face. Her eyebrows crept up her forehead inquisitively. He pulled his arm back from around her waist. "We had to arrest a magician, didn't we? Great planning."

"What are we going to do about this?" Brennan inquired, gesturing at the handcuffs.

"I have the key, somewhere here," Booth muttered, patting his pockets.

Bones yelped in pain as he dragged her arm forward.

"Stop, Booth. Let me. What pocket is it in?"

"Should be the back… right. No left. Back left." Booth took a sharp breath as she delved into his back pocket.

"There's nothing here," she exclaimed after a moment of searching.

"He must have taken it," Booth groaned.

"What are we going to do now?" Brennan wondered.

"Let's see, we're handcuffed together, 200 miles from home, in a dinky town that doesn't have a Laundromat, much less a locksmith or anyone useful." Booth closed his eyes, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"You can't really drive in this condition, can you?"

"Yeah, no, Bones, that's the problem," Booth snapped.

"Well then we'll have to walk into town and find a hotel room," Brennan proposed. He raised an eyebrow.

"To spend the night," she clarified. "It's already nearly 10, Booth. No one will be able to pick us up tonight."

Booth closed his eyes slowly. "Alright," he agreed.

….…...

The partners stumbled through the doorway. Both had tried to enter the hotel room at the same time. Booth straightened up, raised his eyebrows at his partner, and lead the way into the dark room.

The darkness rushed up at him, and he found himself flat on his back, with Brennan on top of him.

"Booth!" she groaned. "Let me up!"

"Oh, sorry," he muttered. He hadn't noticed his arm, which had rebelliously wrapped itself around her waist again. He dragged it back in line.

She tugged on his other arm for a moment; he felt the metal digging into his wrist. She couldn't pull him up with her, and collapsed back onto his chest with a gasp.

"Alright, Bones," he grunted. "Hold on, I'll get up first." He rolled over until he was kneeling above her. He grabbed her left wrist with one hand, and pushed up with the other. At last he pulled them both up into a standing position.

"I see a light switch," Brennan said, trailing Booth along behind her. A dim bulb cast an amber glow over the modest room. Their eyes swept over the room: dingy, threadbare carpeting, fading ivy-patterned wallpaper. A tall dresser. No TV. Booth's eyes and imagination were captured by one detail.

"Only one bed," he said. "Cozy."

"Well what would we do with two beds anyway?" she held up their chained wrists. "We can't be more than four inches apart."

"True," he agreed. Then another worry surfaced. "How do we, you know, go to the bathroom?"

"Interesting question," she mused.

"Got an answer?"

"Not really."

Booth sighed. "Fine. We'll just go to bed then."

...

Brennan was counting the dots on the popcorn ceiling, trying to determine how many were in each square meter. Booth, a few inches to her left, was staring at the same dots, looking for the faces of saints.

Brennan's sigh penetrated the silent moonlight.

"I can't sleep on my back, Booth."

"What do you want me to do about this?" he replied after a moment.

"I'm going to roll towards you twice, so that I'm on my right side and your right arm is under me."

He started to respond, but she was already shifting towards him under the covers. Before he could take a breath his arm was curled around her shoulders; her hair was in his face. Strawberries. Flowers. He thought that combination should be illegal.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked, wrecking his train of thought. "Is your arm losing feeling?"

"Shh, Bones. I'm fine. Go to sleep."

...

Booth woke and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 4:37. His right arm was asleep. It took him a minute to notice the slim fingers woven through his right hand. Then he noticed that his rebellious free arm had once again wrapped around his partner's waist. This time he didn't try to restrain it.

He inhaled, breathing in the scent of her hair again. He wondered if this was a dream. It was a pretty good one, as far as partner-dreams went. He sleepily pondered pinching himself, to make sure it was a dream.

He felt a dull pain at his shin, as a foot collided with it under the blankets. _Definitely not a dream,_ he thought with a smile. The rebellious arm pulled his partner closer to his chest, and his eyes slid contentedly shut.


	4. Save the Date

**A/N: Alright, so this is a really long one. But it ends nicely! Enjoy. And then tell me how much you enjoyed it, on a scale of 1 to 10, in a nice little review, por favor! [Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Shame. If I owned Bones, Hannah would never even have been conceived.] **

Booth lounged on the couch, staring at the TV, but not paying attention. The football game ended. He didn't remember if the Steelers won or not. He barely noticed the picture transitioning from post-game discussion to one of those daytime dramas about doctors or something. He was out of reasons to put this off.

He pulled out his cell phone, pushing the speed dial button. Number 4. His leg bounced impatiently as he listened to the ringing.

"Saroyan?"

"Hey Camille," he said. He hoped it sounded cheery and friendly. But it probably didn't.

"Seeley!" she greeted him, with earnest excitement. "What's going on? Got a dead body for me?"

"Nope, not this time." Did he really only call her when someone was dead?

"So what's up? Are you okay?" she asked. She was confused. He took a breath in preparation.

"I'm fine, Cam. Really. I just need a date to Jared's wedding." He waited out the silence.

"But… I'm already going to his wedding." She was still confused.

"I know, I know," Booth said. "But see, I told Jared I would bring a date, and he's kind of planning on that. I just know that if I don't come with someone it will be a big deal, and I want to make sure it's a good day for him. It's his wedding day."

"You're a great brother that way."

"Yeah," he continued, "so I was going to go with Hannah, but since she left…"

"Right!" Cam interrupted. "I got it now. You don't want to show up alone and make him worry that you're moping and spending all your time staring at football games."

"Something like that," Booth admitted, dropping back onto the couch. "So can you help me out?"

"Sorry Big Man, no can do. I'm bringing Paul."

Booth sighed, dragging the phone away from his ear. He rubbed the back of his neck. He held the phone up again.

"It's alright. I'll find someone else. Do you think Angela's available?" he asked.

"If eight months pregnant, married to a man with anger issues adds up to available…"

"So that's a no?" Booth cut her off.

"You know who I think you should call," Cam said seriously.

"Not an option." He grimaced. He had in fact, been considering that not-option since before the start of this conversation.

"Have you even talked to her since…?"

"No," he said flatly. Silence.

"It's not her fault. Or, not entirely," Cam said finally.

"I know," Booth sighed. He did know. It wasn't her fault. It was all his for being a big stupid weak…

"Alright, I'm done sticking my nose in," Cam concluded. "I'm sorry I can't help you this time."

"Don't worry about it," Booth replied reflexively.

"I'll see you around?" she asked.

"Yeah. See you." Click. He was out of options.

* * *

"Oh, Sweetie! I'll love you forever!" Angela called from her reclined position on the sofa. Brennan entered carrying bags bursting with Chinese takeout.

"I love you, too, Angela," she replied, setting the bags down on the coffee table. She sat down in the chair near the foot of the sofa. "That's why I brought you lunch. I was quite busy with work."

"Whatever you're working on," Angela garbled between inordinately large bites, "I'll bet he's thousands of years old, and I seriously doubt he's pregnant."

"You are correct," Brennan smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Angela choked down another large bite. "Huge. And bored. I'm not a fan of bed rest."

"We haven't had a case in a few weeks anyway." Brennan said. She suppressed the urge to check her phone.

"Have you heard from Booth since… you know?" Angela asked. She was starting to get a little concerned by that sad puppy look on Bren's face.

"No." More sad puppy look. Which was even sadder, because she was trying to hide it behind a fake smile.

"I'm sure he'll call soon," Angela said, setting down her chopsticks. She wanted to reach for her friend's hand, but her pregnant belly got in the way. She leaned back against the pillows.

"Of course. We're partners." She was not as sure as she sounded.

"Sweetie, look at me." Angela leaned forward as far as her condition would allow. She waited until she had trapped Brennan's blue eyes with her own. "He'll call."

Angela watched as that little-vulnerable-abandoned-foster-kid look wandered through her friend's eyes. But a different look came over her momentarily, as they both heard the clear, confident sound of virtual bells.

"Brennan?" she answered, rocketing from her seat. A smile broke through the cloudy expression on her face. She ambled towards the door.

"See!" Angela called. "I told you." She smiled into her takeout box, popping another bite of rice into her mouth.

* * *

Brennan paced into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

"What's up, Bones?" he asked.

"I'm glad to hear from you." This was true. It was irrational for her to be experiencing such a physical response to the sound of his voice. "What's going on?"

The line was quiet for a moment. Enough time for a deep breath on each end.

"Hey, do you remember that time, in one of our first sessions with Sweets?" he finally began.

"I remember you trying to collaborate on an assignment." She wondered why he was bringing this up.

"Later than that. He asked us if we would still see each other, even if there were no more murders." There was a tension in his voice that she could not identify. Was he possibly _nervous_?

"I remember," she replied. "I said we could have coffee."

"Does that still hold?"

"Only if you want it to."

"Tomorrow. Ten o'clock." It was not a question.

"At the reflecting pool?"

"By the coffee cart. It's a date." She could not explain her response to his casual use of that word: _date. _

"I'll see you then."

"Bye, Bones." He hung up.

* * *

He was pacing again. Back and forth, across the sidewalk. The freckled kid at the coffee cart was staring. Booth forced himself to sit down on the bench. His leg bounced persistently.

And then she walked around the corner. The wind blew her auburn hair in a flurry; she pushed her sunglasses up to hold the hair back. He watched her squint around the scene. He jumped up, without thinking about it. That got her attention.

"Booth!" she called, walking towards him.

"Hiya, Bones." He started forward for a hug, but changed his mind and lurched to a stop.

They ordered coffee from the freckled kid. They paid separately, then moved to the bench and sat down.

Booth glanced over at Bones. She was staring stubbornly into her coffee. Of course, the silence didn't bother her. He'd have to start.

"So how've you been, Bones?" Unfortunately he had timed his question just as she took a sip of coffee, so it took an awkward moment of swallowing before she could answer.

"Fine. I'm working with three thousand year-old remains. It's fascinating."

They both sipped their coffees.

"How have you been?" she asked after a delicate sip.

"Oh, you know." He looked out at the reflecting pool, waiting for a response that was true and also not pitiful to come to him. Nothing.

"Oh," she said mildly.

"It's not easy," he said. "But I'm starting to think it's a good thing. Hannah leaving."

She could not say anything. Her eyes were glued to her disposable cup.

"When I asked you out for coffee I figured we would, you know, talk." Booth said after a while.

"Oh, right, sorry," Brennan replied, looking up. "Did you have something to say?" She turned her eyes on him, like two big blue stars. Blinding.

"I had something to ask you," he started. Brown versus blue. Blue won. "But it's not important. Never mind."

"No, tell me, Booth," she demanded.

"I need a date to Jared's wedding." He let it all out in one breath, staring into the murky water of the pool.

"I'll be at the wedding," she murmured.

"I know." He finally looked back up.

"I could go with you." She said. "I don't have other plans. If you want," she added.

"Would you?" he asked. "Really?"

"Of course, Booth." He could hear the next part coming. It was like seeing the bullet in slow motion before it slid into your chest. "We're partners."

"Yeah. Partners." He took a gulp of coffee.

* * *

Booth fidgeted on her doormat. He fingered the poker chip in his pocket. He glanced at his watch. He raised his fist to knock, then lowered it. Again. He raised his knuckles; they were seconds from colliding with the door for real.

The door swung open. And she smelled amazing. He was choking on how good she smelled.

"Were you planning to knock on the door in the near future?" Bones asked, leaning against the doorframe. Her dress was grey, floor length. It clung to her sides and hips, and the skirt floated delicately.

"I was getting there." He smiled. "You look great." And you smell great. And probably taste great, he added in his mind, eying her gently tinted lips.

"Are you ready to leave?" she asked, grabbing a silver clutch from the side table.

"We'll be really early."

"There'll be traffic."

He agreed. She shut the door behind her. He rested his hand against the small of her back, surprised to encounter bare skin there. His hand started to tingle as he guided her to the elevator.

* * *

The bride walked down the aisle, and everyone turned to see. Angela cried. Hodgins held her hand. Cam smiled. Booth viewed his brother proudly. But Brennan was watching Jared. Padme walked down the aisle. She was beautiful. Brennan did not have to look at her to see this: Jared's face told her. He was grinning. It was a grin so familiar it made her organs ache somehow. Brennan found herself wishing to cause such a grin.

And then it was over and the guests were dispersing to the hall for the reception. Brennan met Booth at the back of the hall.

"You ok, Bones?" he asked. He pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. She did not realize she had been crying.

"Thank you," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "I'm fine."

"Ready?" He offered his arm. She took it, and they walked to a table in the center of the crowded room.

* * *

Booth leaned back in his chair. He glanced over at Bones. She sipped at her wine. After a few moments she turned to him.

"What?" she asked.

"You look really nice." He smiled.

Her face colored. Was it the wine or his comments? "Thank you, again," she replied. Music began to play in the background. Jared and Padme were the first to stand, and they began their first dance as a married couple. Their smiles could have cracked their faces apart.

Booth argued with himself in his head. He was the best man, it would be expected for him to… But would she agree to it? It had been a while… and then not so long since…

"Booth, will you dance with me?" She made his decision for him.

He had no idea what look was on his face. But she giggled. She really _giggled. _It must be the wine. She stood gracefully, and pulled him to his feet.

"Alright Bones. But I get to lead," he said, guiding her to the floor by the small of her back. Bare skin against his hand.

He spun her around. She followed obligingly. She smiled at him, pulling herself closer.

* * *

Angela sat in the corner, her feet up in Hodgins' lap. He had removed her high heels, and was gently massaging her aching feet and ankles.

"That feels so good." She leaned her head back against the wall. "Stop and I'll kill you."

"Not stopping, Angie." He smiled towards her toes.

"Hey look at that," she said, her head snapping up.

"What?" he asked urgently, looking around the room for a threat.

"The just-partners are still just-dancing." She pointed with a manicured fingernail.

"What is that, six slow songs now?" he wondered.

"I lost count at 'Every time We Touch.'"

"They are fascinating." Hodgins replied.

"I was worried they would never talk again, after the Hannah drama," Angela remarked. "Brennan was getting so mopey."

"You ask me, I think Booth's glad she left him."

"What makes you say that?" Angela asked, leaning back against the wall.

"Look at the guy. He's smiling down at Brennan like he's never seen her before." Hodgins began. "If you left me, I would not look that good two weeks later. I would still be curled up in the corner in the fetal position." He stroked her foot softly.

* * *

As another, calmer rhythm wafted out of the speakers, Brennan took the opportunity of beginning the conversation that had been preying on both their minds.

"I'm sorry Hannah hurt you."

"I'm a big boy, Bones," he replied with half a smile. "I've had worse."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, staring at the padding under the shoulder of his jacket. She could feel the muscle of his upper arm under her palm.

"It's not your fault," he said earnestly, trying to capture her eyes.

"Yes, it is," she insisted. "Last year, if I hadn't…" he watched her consider, then her sentence changed course, "if I hadn't gone to Maluku, this wouldn't have happened."

"No, Bones. It would have happened. If not Hannah, it would have happened the next time I tried…" He stared over her head to a spot on the wall. They swayed slowly.

"Listen, Bones, I need some air," he said as the song changed. She agreed, and he led her off the dance floor. They walked hand-in-hand out of the hall. She expected him to stop in the corridor, but he continued. He turned down a short, empty hallway. He stopped at the dead-end; a gilt-framed mirror hung over a handsome side table covered in flowers and candles.

"I can't move on," he said to the mirror. He looked up and saw her face over his shoulder. She did not reply; her face turned to marble, etched with shock.

"Do you hear me, Bones?" He turned, taking both her hands.

"I…" she began to speak. "I don't know if I can…" She looked away from his molten chocolate eyes as they became too powerful for her.

"Don't know if you can…?"

"Watch you move on again," she muttered towards the floor. "I didn't like it." She turned her eyes up to his.

He leaned towards her hesitantly, resting his forehead against hers. He inhaled, and her scent choked him again.

"Tell me I don't have to try again," he whispered. "I don't want to move on."

"I can't…" she began. But her lips met his before she could continue. His hands slid across the silky fabric of her dress, around to the skin at her back.

"Booth–" she said against his mouth. He pulled back, dropping his arms.

"I know. Sorry," he forced a smile. "I'll behave now."

"Stop interrupting me," she insisted. He looked at her, surprised, but stopped talking.

"I don't want you to move on. But I know you deserve someone better. Someone who believes in love and marriage." She mentally cursed the rebellious tears forming in her eyes. "But I want that to be me. I want to change."

"Bones," he said thoughtfully. "You do believe in love. You do believe in marriage." She just looked at him, with confused eyes.

"You believe that Hodgins and Angela will stay together, don't you?"

"That's based on my knowledge of Hodgins and Angela's character and history. They are compatible on a number of levels. Based on all that I know about them, I could not rationally predict that either one would leave the other," she explained.

"You know us, too, Bones. You know our history, our characters. You know that we are compatible, too. What's the difference?" She did not answer.

"Do you think I would ever leave you, Bones?" he asked.

"You have before. After our first case. When you went to Afghanistan. When you met Hannah." The tears made tracks down her cheeks.

"Do you trust me, Bones?" he asked, grabbing her hands and pulling her closer. "Do you trust me not to leave again?"

She shook her head, frightened by his intensity. "There is no logical reason why you would not."

"I love you, Bones, that's why not!" She stepped back again. "I love you, and I can't leave you again, because every time I leave you it hurts. But I don't even care that it hurts me, because all I see is your face. All I see is that I've hurt you. I can't live with that again. I can't leave you."

"Don't leave me, Booth," she whispered. She leaned in, resting her head against his strong shoulder. "I love you." Her nose pressed against his neck as she murmured these words.

"I'm not leaving. I promise, Baby," he answered. He lifted her head, his palm hot against her wet cheek. He kissed her again, so softly. Her arms wound around his neck as his other hand found the skin at her back again. "I love you."

**P.S. If you're interested (and I know I would be, were I in your shoes), this is the dress I picked out for Brennan: **

**/tag/prom-dress-of-the-day/**


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